


Not Forgotten

by Ekokai



Category: The Pretender
Genre: M/M, Revenge, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekokai/pseuds/Ekokai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way 'Red Rock Jarod' should have been. Lyle has plans for Jarod, but they're not to take him back to The Centre. He wants the Pretender all to himself, but can Jarod survive Lyle's attention?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Authored by Djinn
> 
> Disclaimer: The Pretender and related characters belong to NBC and  
> MTM. 
> 
> Spoilers: Back From The Dead Again and Red Rock Jarod
> 
> This is a definite NC-17 story involving non-consensual m/m sex and violence. Originally published around 1998.

A loud, echoing click and a flash of light dragged Jarod back into the world of the living. At least that's what he told himself. The pounding in his head was begging him to sink back into the dark place that claimed him after Lyle ----Lyle? Jarod opened his eyes to another blinding flash.

"Oooh, that'll be a good one."

Speak of the devil and he appears, Jarod thought, fighting to focus on the moving figure. He eyed the man  
speculatively.

"How long have I been out?"

Lyle shrugged and took another picture. "A few hours."

Jarod glared at his captor. The man that was supposedly dead. Twice! 

"You sent the message."

Lyle's jaw dropped in mock surprise. "You really are a genius," he drawled, taking a moment to snap another picture.  
Jarod turned away at the last second, having no desire to be on film.

"How did you find out about refuge?" Jarod asked, angry that once again, someone from the Centre had taken something from him. Lyle gave Jarod another I can't believe you asked that look before fiddling with the camera again.

"You forget," he admonished, stepping closer. "Before I found myself...thumbless in the desert, I was head rat at the cheese factory. You may have walked off with the DSA's, but I had access to every conversation you and Sydney ever had."

Jarod shifted uncomfortably as he thought about that. His arms were already aching from being pulled up and back, cuffed behind him and forcing an unnatural arch in his back. Lyle popped the spent film cartridge from the instamatic camera and watched Jarod squirm in the hard chair. This was better than he'd imagined. The last time he'd been alone with Jarod was short and unsatisfying. Raines had made sure of that. But not this time, Lyle promised himself, already feeling the warmth spreading downward at the thought of what was to come. This time, he's mine. 

He set the reloaded camera on a rickety wooden table and walked over to Jarod who watched his every move. Lyle saw the pretender try not to flinch as he caressed the man's jaw with his bandaged left hand.

"Like that? I hear I have you to thank for my current, unopposable condition."

"You have yourself to blame. You chose to use me, use my gifts to -"

"And I'll use you again, Jarod. You and your gifts," Lyle interrupted, an edge in his voice. "In fact, I'm planning to use you well, and often." Lyle's voice had softened, becoming seductive.

Jarod looked at him, puzzled. He knew that Lyle's words had a double meaning, but his experience was too limited to understand. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation, and Lyle slapped him in the face. Hard enough to sting, but not enough to draw blood, the blow nevertheless drew a gasp of pain from the bound man.

Swiftly, Lyle slapped him twice more, and Jarod felt his face burn. 

"What do you want?" he shouted, before another blow could fall.

"Everything you've got, Jarod, everything." Clasping the reddened flesh of Jarod's jaw in his strong right hand, Lyle forced his mouth open slightly. "And that's what you're going to give me." 

Lyle moved in to capture Jarod's lips with his own in a painful, bruising kiss, grinding soft lips with his teeth. Jarod wrenched his head to the side, gasping. Lyle stepped back slightly, laughing under his breath. "And what  
you won't give me, my dear pretender, I will take."

Jarod's thoughts were bouncing in a thousand directions and he struggled to gain the control that had been so easily ripped from him. He looked at Lyle, at the smug smile, the leering eyes, and understood perfectly. 

"You can't," Jarod stated, surprised that his voice didn't betray his suddenly shattered nerves.

Lyle smiled brightly then laughed, backing up to snatch the camera from its precarious perch.

Jarod turned his head away again as the first flash went off. He'd forgotten about that camera and had zero doubt in his mind that it was going to play a large part in whatever deviance Lyle had planned.

Lyle snapped a few more shots, maneuvering around his prize, wanting to get a wide variety of angles. 

"If you're going to glare at me in all these pictures, it won't be any fun to relive it later," Lyle warned, his voice turning cold. "Smile."

Jarod turned his head away but was still able to see Lyle in his peripheral vision as the man snapped another picture before dropping the camera in frustration.

"Don't be shy, Jarod. You should be used to cameras by now. Always watching you." He lowered his voice, goading the other man. "They were always on you, Jarod. I watched you eat. I watched you sleep......."

Lyle saw a muscle in Jarod's jaw twitch with the effort to control himself. He was teetering on the edge and Lyle knew how to push him over.

"My favorite time to watch.....was when you thought you were alone. When they told you the camera's were off." He squatted down on his haunches in front of Jarod and grinned as he saw the realization dance in the brown eyes before they were squeezed shut tight, as if that would block out the visions that were suddenly making themselves known. "That half hour a day that you were allowed to shower and do.....other things......"

Lyle had been reaching out slowly and Jarod suddenly found himself with a thumbless hand on his crotch, rubbing him through his jeans.

Lyle smiled at the immediate reaction as the warm mound under his palm started to swell involuntarily. "Yeah, you're loving every minute of this, aren't you?" Lyle watched Jarod's face as the pretender shook his head in denial, refusing to open his eyes. "Oh, yeah you are," Lyle assured him.

"You're head says no, but this," he rubbed his hand over the firm bulge, his fingers splaying out as far as the bandage would allow, "...this, says yes."

When there was still no response, he looked up to find Jarod staring at him.

"Don't touch me," Jarod demanded, his voice low.

"Don't?" Lyle asked, shaking his head in disbelief, his voice rising. "You don't understand, my friend. You don't have a say in the matter. I've been waiting for this, planning this, a very long time. All you have to do is sit....or lay...back and enjoy it."

He put his hands on Jarod's thighs and pushed himself up, feeling the muscles tense just in time to avoid the brunt of the kick that was aimed at his crotch. Jarod's booted foot hit Lyle a few inches to the left, hard enough to hurt, but not to stop him. If nothing else, it only made him more dangerous. 

"Stupid, Jarod," Lyle told him softly, his tone far too calm. "That was very, very...stupid."

He rubbed his leg where Jarod's foot had struck him as he limped over to a box by the warehouse door. He bent over carefully and rummaged around while Jarod watched, already condemning himself for losing control. He had gone against thirty years of training and acted without considering every alternative and consequence. He could almost hear Sydney yelling at him now.

Jarod was so deep in thought that he didn't realize Lyle was back until he felt the first tug of a rope as it secured his leg to the chair.

"I hope that hurts," Lyle quipped, pulling it even tighter until Jarod felt as if his shin would snap against the pressure. Lyle thumped Jarod on his knee to get his attention. "I'm going to tie down your other leg now. You even think about kicking me again...and we're gonna have all kinds of problems."

He shifted his body slowly in front of Jarod, their eyes locked. When he was in position, Lyle quickly secured Jarod's right leg in the same manner before standing up.

"That was very good, Jarod," Lyle praised. "Here's a little reward." He bent down, intending to force another kiss on the man, but had to pull back almost immediately when Jarod tried to bite him.

"Well, that's enough of that," Lyle announced, much too calmly for Jarod's peace of mind. "On to the next step..." He moved to the table and ran his bandaged hand over a small metal case until he could feel Jarod watching him, then raised the cover, revealing a row of scalpels in varying sizes.

"I hate to throw a wrench in your plans," Jarod spoke, unwanted panic seeping into his voice. "But it's against the law to impersonate a doctor."

Lyle's head popped up and he laughed, looking at Jarod and realizing he was serious.

"Now that's funny," he conceded as he reached for the largest and sharpest of the instruments. He ran his thumb across the blade, leaving a thin trail of blood in its path. If only they'd used something this sharp on me, he thought, remembering the dull steak knife that had sawed through skin and bone to remove his thumb. It had been two months, and he could still hear his own screams when, or if, he slept. Yet another reason his revenge was going to be sweet.

Jarod moved restlessly, shifting the bare millimeters that his bonds allowed. "What are you going to do?" Good, he'd kept the terror from his voice. If only he could recapture the anger. But Lyle had killed him before, at the Centre, and he doubted the man would hesitate to kill him now - or worse.

Lyle walked over to the bound man, smiling, and that smile sent a thrill of fear through Jarod. "You must be hot in that shirt, Jarod. Let me help." Teasing the neckline of Jarod's shirt with the tip of the razor sharp blade, Lyle inserted it into the cloth tugging downward.

Jarod hissed, and Lyle made a t'sking sound when blood began to well in the wake of the scalpel. "Oh, so sorry, Jarod. I'll try to be more careful. But then, I was left handed, so you'll just have to be patient. Oh, and try not to scream. It might make me flinch."

The silver bright blade continued downward, and the shirt began to part, exposing Jarod's skin marred by the shallow cut. "Look at all that blood, Jarod. We'll have to clean it up, won't we?"

Smiling, Lyle dipped his head and flicked his tongue over the beads of blood that dotted the line of the cut. Jarod shivered.  
The pain of the scalpel incision, little deeper than a paper cut, was a sensation he preferred to that of Lyle's mouth on his chest, licking him. Tasting him. The feel of those lips on him, hated, despised, still brought an unwelcome roil of heat to his groin. He gritted his teeth on a groan of despair at his situation, but Lyle, his face pressed to Jarod's body, felt it. Kneeling at Jarod's legs, Lyle carefully cut around Jarod's left nipple, baring it to his gaze, his mouth. He licked around the copper circle, feeling it pebble, the nub becoming erect. When he put his whole mouth on it, sucking it briefly, Jarod did moan, inadvertently arching his pelvis slightly in response. Lifting his head, Lyle looked up into his face, noting the tension in the jaw, the sweat that dewed his hairline. 

"Did you want something, Jarod?"

Jarod squeezed his eyes shut and put his head back against the post.

"No? Well, then, I'll continue, shall I?" After licking Jarod's nipple one more time, Lyle then bit down on it, hard.

Jarod was forced to release a strangled scream, but his cock, already responding to Lyle's attentions, became engorged, hardening.

"No!" Jarod was mortified at his body's betrayal.

"Don't take it so......hard, Jarod." Lyle patted Jarod's straining thigh. "You have already been through this before. At the Centre. But of course, you don't remember. We didn't want you to remember."

Jarod's breath caught in his chest as the implications of those words sank in. He felt as if part of his brain had suddenly rewired itself, locating one memory, and then another. He'd known there were three missing weeks and had, so far, only accounted for a day of it. He had been reluctant to search beyond that once the nightmares had tapered off, but now he had to know. Or, more accurately, his mind needed to know. It was fairly apparent by the strain on his jeans that his body had a memory all its own.

Lyle never moved, didn't even twitch, while he watched the memories dance just out of Jarod's reach. He smiled, thinking of the surveillance tapes he'd almost worn out. Remembering would never be a problem for him. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was back at the Centre, in the lab, watching as Jarod fought the restraints, his muscles flexing and relaxing in turn as he struggled against the straps on his legs, then on his chest. Lyle couldn't even begin to count how many times he had fallen asleep with that tape running, his hand on his cock and Jarod's screams echoing in his ears.

Lyle knew from his contact in the Centre that it was the third day that Jarod remembered the clearest. The cryogenics experiment that Lyle had used to gain access to the pretender. Access that he would later use for his own pleasure. And speaking of pleasure...

Jarod tensed as the scalpel was raised again.

"I'm getting ahead of myself," Lyle apologized as he stood over his captive. "Here I am, ready to move on, and I haven't even finished what I started."

"Don't rush on my account," Jarod managed to force out. He received a half grin for his efforts as the blade slipped under his left sleeve, effortlessly slitting it to his neck. 

Jarod waited for the sensation of blood trickling down his arm, but it didn't come. A second later the right sleeve was slit and his shirt was ripped away with a flourish.

Lyle examined the scalpel thoughtfully. "It always pays to keep your tools in top-notch condition. Don't you agree?"

Jarod took it as a rhetorical question and didn't answer. Big mistake. He had no warning before he was backhanded, his head striking the pole behind him. Jarod could hear Lyle yelling something at him, but was having a difficult time focusing over the ringing in his ears. It was the glint of the blade held directly in front of his eyes that finally captured his complete attention.

"Are you with me?" Lyle asked, the quiet concern in his voice an obvious act. 

Jarod started to nod his head then thought better of it. "With you," he agreed softly, never taking his eyes from the blade. More memories accosted his mind, one standing out brighter than the others; no movements without permission. Lyle liked to see the evidence of his handiwork. He enjoyed the marks of pain he had put on Jarod as an artist enjoys the brushstrokes on a canvas. The embodiment of his vision.

Lyle leaned back slightly, surveying Jarod's exposed upper body. A thin mixture of sweat and blood had worked through the maze of hair on Jarod's chest and pooled in the cup of his navel. Lyle leaned across Jarod's thighs, and lapped at the salty mixture. Glancing owlishly up at Jarod, the man then continued to lick the line of hair that led from Jarod's belly to the waistband of his jeans. Moving down to the cloth, Lyle rubbed his face on the bulge that swelled uncontrollably beneath Jarod's fly.

Nuzzling it, he whispered conspiratorially. "Oh, look, Jarod. Look who wants to come out and play."

Jarod ground his teeth as Lyle caressed his cock to painful hardness within his tight jeans. His throat worked as he swallowed the anger, the humiliation that he felt. There was no sim for this, no outlet, no pretense that would make this pain go away. No refuge. 

He felt Lyle fumble at the buttons awkwardly with his right hand. 

"Shit!" the man cursed and in a sudden temper, brought a fist up and struck Jarod again in the face. The split on his lip opened further, causing a runnel of blood to course down his chin and drip on to his chest.

Jarod bore this pain stoically, but when Lyle grabbed his erection through the cloth of his jeans and squeezed hard, he couldn't help but groan.

"You're a slut, Jarod," Lyle remarked, then returned to his previous task of undoing Jarod's pants. "Damn button fly jeans,"  
he muttered, yanking one, then another of the silvery buttons through the well worn holes. "Obviously invented by some sadist with two thumbs."

Jarod was having difficulty breathing. The pain from his battered face, the cuts on his chest, and the intense throbbing ache from his bound arms combined with the unwelcome arousal was literally making him nauseous. He swallowed hard, trying not to gag, then thought better of it. Running the sim quickly in his head, he realized that vomiting should cool Lyle's ardor and perhaps buy him some valuable time. 

He hadn't eaten much since breakfast many hours ago, but with a convulsion that shook his entire torso, he bent his head over his lap and vomited on Lyle. Lyle fell back, cursing, but Jarod's triumph was short lived. The man jumped up and began beating him with his fists. Jarod took several blows to the face before one, hitting him at the wrong angle, sent his head cracking against the rusty metal pole.

As he lost consciousness, he was aware of Lyle, cursing him and hitting him until the blows seemed to be mere nudges, and then he felt nothing at all. 

 

He woke to pain. Bone deep, aching, burning, pain. Everything hurt. He shifted his hips slightly. Yes, everything. His conscious mind fought the knowledge that his ass was sore, most likely from something he'd rather not know about. Something in a dark recess of his memory, something he didn't want to acknowledge. He could see light through the red of his eyelids, too direct for sunlight or the warehouse. He knew he was lying down, and through the pain, he could feel comfort. A bed or soft surface. He tried to move further and felt constrained. Tied; wrists and ankles spread apart. He raised his head slightly, surveying himself. He was naked. No surprise there. Jarod let his head fall back, wincing as the motion jarred the contusion on the back of his head. His mouth tasted terrible, blood and bile. He licked his lips tentatively, wincing from the pain of the bruises and cuts his tongue encountered.

"Poor Jarod. Poor, poor Jarod." The tone was so gentle, compassionate, he almost didn't recognize Lyle's voice. Puffy and painful though they were, he forced his eyes open. Lyle stood, looking down on him.

"Darling, Jarod. Did we have an accident?" Jarod tried to croak anger and defiance at this man, but his voice wouldn't work.

Lyle leaned down. "Here, take some of this." He tipped a cup next to Jarod's mouth, resting it against the battered lips. Involuntarily, Jarod parted his lips at the pain, and a cold liquid spilled into his mouth and down the sides of his face.

It was just ice water, but to Jarod no rare wine could have been so delicious. He swallowed and opened his mouth again slightly, pleading for more. 

"Here, baby, here. Have some more. Lyle will be good to his Jarod, if only Jarod will let him be." There was the slightest bit of hardness in the last few words.

"Thank you," Jarod whispered hoarsely. "Thank you, Lyle."

A broad smile bisected Lyle's face. It was too much, too big, and Jarod caught his breath. The man was a psychopath. For all his analytical ability, Jarod had resisted acknowledging this. The baby talk, the beating, the torture, and now Jarod's complete helplessness almost caused panic to overwhelm him. He had to fight back the fear, force himself to think. As tempting as it was to sim an escape, Jarod knew that all his intelligence, every instinct he had, must be used to survive. And to do that, he would have to please this man, keep him happy. After a final, reluctant tug at the secure bonds on his wrists, Jarod returned the smile.

"What did I miss while I was....was sleeping," Jarod carefully avoided 'knocked unconscious'. He didn't want to give Lyle any ideas.

Lyle moved to set the cup down and Jarod's eyes followed, getting his first look at his new surroundings. Well, new wasn't accurate. He'd been here before. Briefly. Jarod looked past Lyle through the open bedroom door to the main part of the trailer he'd been led to by the sheriff.

He wondered where the sheriff was at the moment. If he was to return now.... Jarod didn't want to think about that. As much as he wanted to be rescued, he didn't want anyone to see him like this. Still, anything would be better than the immediate future he glimpsed in Lyle's eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts," Lyle's voice interrupted. A second later there was a click and a flash. Jarod groaned in  
embarrassment, much to Lyle's amusement. Setting the camera down, he perched on the edge of the bed and ran his bandaged hand across Jarod's chest.

Jarod felt another wave of nausea as he watched that hand caressing his bare skin, but forced himself to control it. He already knew the results of puking on this man. With that thought in mind, Jarod turned to really look at Lyle. He had changed from his recently soiled clothes into sweat pants and a T-shirt, the attire making him look less threatening. Jarod immediately pushed that image away. This man was very dangerous and he had to remember that.

Jarod turned his head on the pillow and noticed that it suddenly didn't hurt as much as it should. He also noticed that a lot of the muscle pain he'd been feeling was staring to fade as well. It was almost as if.... 

"What was in the water, Lyle?"

The hand on his chest stilled for a moment, then continued painting an invisible pattern across the bruised skin.

"Lyle? The water?" Jarod prompted. The hand started drifting lower and Jarod's breath caught as it ran across his hip, over the top of his thigh and started back up along the inside of his left leg.

"Nothing much," Lyle finally answered. "Just a light pain killer to take the edge off. I want you to be able to concentrate on the good stuff."

Jarod swallowed audibly. "The good stuff?"

Lyle smirked at him and licked his index finger. He traced the cup of Jarod's navel, circling round and round, finally pushing it into the indentation firmly. 

"You know what I mean, Jarod. Now don't be coy, dear heart. You're acting like a shy virgin." He smothered a knowing laugh. "And you're not a virgin, Jarod, oh, no, not at all."

"I don't know what you mean," Jarod forced calm into his voice. But he did know, fragments of the weeks when Sydney was away, when Raines and Lyle had their fun with him. Flashes of memory, of pain and, worst of all, the shameful pleasure. He banished those thoughts from his mind. He needed to concentrate on the present.

"I'm afraid I don't remember at all."

"Well, then, we'll make new memories, you and I. Lovely, lovely memories." Lyle leaned down and licked Jarod's belly, copying the earlier motions of his finger with his tongue. The haze of the drug he'd been given, the almost heady surcease from pain, combined with the sensual touch of Lyle's tongue went straight to Jarod's groin. He could feel the heat spread from his abdomen to his cock, a flush of excitement that caused his thigh and abdominal muscles to twitch helplessly.

"Your mind may not remember, Jarod," Lyle spoke against his skin and the vibration of his voice caused a frisson of excitement to further harden Jarod's penis. "But your body knows what's coming." Lyle laughed suddenly. "No pun intended." 

He turned his head and licked a rising bruise that marked the site of a vicious blow. "Beautiful Jarod." Without warning he bit the tender skin, causing Jarod to utter a choked scream and strain against his bonds. To his shame, Jarod felt his cock rise at this sudden pain, and his face flushed. He didn't want this, couldn't want this. But a part of his mind, trained by Lyle, and previously covered by the memory-altering drugs from the Centre, welcomed the endorphin rush engendered by the pain.

Lyle's hand gripped the base of Jarod's cock and squeezed. Jarod groaned, tried to move, and felt his traitorous flesh respond to this madman. "That's my lovely Jarod," Lyle was crooning. He licked a broad swiped up Jarod's torso, ending at a nipple. Flicking his tongue around it, the small nub hardened, becoming erect. Lyle flashed a demented smile at the bound, and now panting man, then gently kissed the tip of Jarod's nipple before sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh and pulling on Jarod's straining cock at the same time.

Moaning with pain and humiliation, Jarod felt himself near orgasm, and didn't know whether to rejoice or despair when Lyle suddenly released him and moved away from the bed.

"Playtime, Jarod." He dug into the cheap chest of drawers that completed the haphazard bedroom suite in the trailer. "And playtime means toys." He turned back to the bound man, dangling leather straps from one hand and holding a long, blunt object in the other. "We don't want you to come too soon, do we?"

Jarod had been about to respond that, yes, he did want to come, and soon, when he realized not only what that object was, but where Lyle intended to put it. Lyle watched the color drain from Jarod's face as the pretender started pulling on the restraints with a renewed effort. He let the man flail on the bed until he noticed the ropes cutting into the soft skin on his wrists. Lyle rushed forward and slapped Jarod hard across his already bruised face. The reaction was immediate and the bound man stopped struggling.

"That's better," Lyle crooned, caressing the new red mark as he sat down beside Jarod. "Now, where were we?" He let his hand trail down his prisoners chest and abdomen and was pleased, but not surprised, to find Jarod's erection had lost none of its hardness. Yes, he had been trained well. 

Jarod was still in a state of near panic and it was all he could do just to keep from hyperventilating as Lyle took a renewed interest in him. He glanced quickly at the bed where Lyle had dropped his 'toys' a moment ago, praying he would forget about them. 

Lyle studied the naked man spread out before him, carefully planning his next move. He didn't want to rush, but every time he thought about what he had already done and what he was going to do, his own cock swelled in response, begging for attention. Jarod wasn't the only one that Raines had trained well, Lyle thought wryly. 

He ran his right hand across the flat expanse of Jarod's abdomen to the hard flesh that was waiting patiently for him. He heard Jarod's quick intake of breath as his hand wrapped around the man's erection and pumped it quickly a few times. A dollop of moisture appeared on the reddened head and he stopped, still not allowing the release that Jarod thought would end this. Lyle smiled to himself at the soft whimper that escaped Jarod's lips as he renewed his exploration, letting a finger trail down the underside of Jarod's cock and across his tight balls. Lyle stopped momentarily to retrieve one of the toys he had dropped after Jarod's outburst, holding it up so the man could get a good look at it.

"Remember this?" he asked.

Jarod shook his head 'no', but Lyle knew better by the expression on the pretenders face. He turned the thick, rubber object in his hand, examining it closely.

"Really?" he inquired, playing along. "I thought this was one thing you'd never forget. He shrugged his shoulders and moved his hand between Jarod's spread legs.

Jarod tensed as he felt the smooth head of the thick plug press between his ass cheeks. He remembered this all right. He remembered it hurt like hell. The thought was barely in his head before he found himself suddenly filled with just the barest hint of pain. His eyes snapped to Lyle's face and the man smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, Jarod. I couldn't wait for you to wake up. You looked so.....accessible after I had you comfortable here." He shrugged his shoulders at Jarod's outraged expression. "Well it’s not like you missed your first time!" Dropping the subject, Lyle pushed the plug in further until it was held in place by the taut ring of muscle surrounding it.

He ran one finger lightly between the stretched, sensitive skin and Jarod's balls, causing the man to strain against his bonds again. 

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't come. I just got the preliminaries out of the way."

Lyle licked the tip of his index finger and caressed the muscle that had tightened around the plug. Jarod bit his lip, welcoming the pain that took his mind away from that probing finger. The spurt of salty blood in his mouth from a cut caused him to swallow, and the motion of his throat caught Lyle's attention. 

"Oh, my dear boy. You want something in your mouth, is that it? But I have to attend to you here, first."

Taking up the leather straps he'd abandoned earlier, Lyle unwound them, revealing a harness that something inside Jarod remembered well. A shamed flush of pleasure washed through the bound and straining body when Lyle pulled the scrotal sac in order to fasten the leather into place. It separated and pulled down the balls, and another piece of the harness went around the base of the cock. The tightness of the leather created a painful ache, containing Jarod's orgasm until Lyle was ready to release it. Lyle squeezed the shaft of Jarod's cock a few times, causing Jarod to moan in pain and desire. Then, climbing onto the bed, Lyle straddled Jarod's chest.

At first he merely toyed with Jarod's nipples, alternating caressing and pinching them. The sensations caused Jarod's body to buck, and the motion caused the plug to brush against his prostate. Combined with the constriction of the harness, the pleasure/pain was unbearable, and Jarod cried out, venting his frustration.

It was the cue Lyle seemed to have been waiting for. While Jarod was still panting from his outcry, Lyle took his jaw in an iron grip. Holding his captive's mouth open with his right hand, Lyle clumsily pulled down the front of his sweat pants with his left, exposing a red and angry erection. 

"Be good now, Jarod," Lyle admonished, remembering the earlier biting attempt. Without further warning, he propelled himself forward and pushed his cock into Jarod's mouth. The unwelcome intrusion of the already weeping cock into his bruised mouth caused Jarod to push against the invader with his tongue. Lyle moaned in pleasure, thrusting a little deeper. He balanced himself over Jarod with his left hand and reached behind with his right, catching the head of Jarod's cock and pulling on the purpling tip roughly. The excruciating sensation served to remind Jarod that he must submit in order to survive this encounter, and he forced himself to open his mouth a little wider.

"Sweet, sweet Jarod," Lyle panted, and he lowered his pelvis over Jarod's face, forcing his cock deeper into the man's throat. Fighting the gag reflex, Jarod parted his lips as much as he could, hearing a grunt of satisfaction from the madman above him.

Jarod closed his eyes again, the scent of the other man, sweat and musk, filling his nostrils. Lyle pulled a little back, and Jarod took the opportunity to take a deep breath. The wisdom of this was evident as Lyle plunged all the way into Jarod's mouth and throat, his balls slapping Jarod's chin.

"Such a good boy!" And Lyle thrust deeply again and again. The hard tip of his cock struck the back of Jarod's throat, and the copious pre-ejaculate ran down his gullet. More memories swam into his consciousness and the pretender began an alternating swallowing and breathing, coordinating it with Lyle's thrusts, and the man moaned in appreciation. 

"Oh, god, you're still good. I knew you'd remember this, Jarod!" To show his appreciation, he put a hand back and yanked on the tip of Jarod's rampant cock, weeping against his belly.

"I'm gonna fuck you and fuck you and fuck you!" Lyle shouted as he pushed his cock into Jarod. "God, what a pretty, pretty mouth!" 

Jarod felt the cock swell and readied himself for the stream of semen, swallowing frantically to keep from choking. Lyle collapsed on top of him, and the press of his lower abdomen against his face combined with the barely softening penis in his mouth effectively cut off Jarod's air.

Lyle smiled as he felt Jarod struggle to get oxygen into his rapidly starving lungs, and pumped once more. He then levered himself up, still leaving the tip of his cock resting on Jarod's bruised lips.

"Lick me, Jarod."

After he had panted a few times, Jarod obeyed, meeting and holding Lyle's eyes as he obediently cleaned the semen off the sensitive cockhead. "Good boy, good Jarod." He ran a hand through Jarod's hair, caressing him, then gently wiped a runnel of semen that had escaped Jarod's mouth, holding it to his own lips.

"Delicious, if I do say so myself." Leaning back, he eased his now-flaccid cock into his sweat pants and slid off Jarod's chest. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Now, what to do next? Any suggestions, sweet Jarod?"

Jarod had a few suggestions, but they all involved revenge, something else he had become quite adept at over the last two years. Unfortunately, at this moment, he could only form one thought into words, and they were the words he would rather die than say.

Lyle was waiting for Jarod to answer him, but while he was willing to be patient, he was not willing to be bored. "That's okay, Jarod. Just take your time," Lyle offered, his eyes running over the naked man's flushed body. "I'm sure I can find something to keep me occupied while I wait."

Jarod groaned as the man’s hand wrapped around his throbbing cock and he shifted, trying to pull away.

"Ah-ah," Lyle condemned softly as he began to slide his hand up and down. "You can't get away, Jarod." He laughed and increased his tempo. "You can't even get off without my help." 

Lyle's hand stilled as another thought suddenly occurred to him. "Or can you?"

Jarod risked a quick look at his tormentor. What was he thinking now? Jarod shifted again and Lyle's rubber toy moved inside him, sending a jolt through his body. Jarod pulled reflexively on the restraints as his cock began to leak almost non-stop, the warm fluid dribbling down his length.

Lyle watched the man squirm and decided he was right. Jarod was responsive enough to come without direct stimulation of his penis. It would just take a little more work if he decided to test that theory. Only time would tell.

Checking to ensure that the snug cock ring was still performing its function - to keep Jarod from orgasm, Lyle smiled. Jarod wouldn't come until he was ready. "You're all sweaty, Jarod," his tone was oh-so-solicitous, "let's get you all cleaned up."

Jarod watched him disappear through the door of the bedroom, and lolled his head back on the bed. The drug was not that powerful, the pain from the beating was beginning to resurface. Jarod tried to concentrate on it, to use those thoughts to allow his erection to subside. With time, it could happen, but Jarod knew that Lyle wouldn't give him enough time, and he would just bring him to this point again anyway.

A sudden memory hit him like a blow, playing like a DSA against his eyelids. He could see himself, tied like this, in his room at the Centre. Lyle was there, with a tray holding various 'toys'. Jarod could see his body arching in the horrible combination of agony and sexual excitement that Lyle excelled at producing. And Jarod knew, with a searing, hateful certainty, that Lyle had taught him to want this. Given time, Lyle would teach him again.

Molten tears began to leak from Jarod's eyes, his face a rictus of despair. His body racked with sobs, the quiet convulsive shudders forcing the sensations of even more pain from his beaten body and causing his cock to throb. He was lost. When Lyle reentered the room, he found that Jarod was more than resigned; he was broken.

The intelligence that served him so well in his pretends had simmed all possible outcomes of his predicament, and there was no hope for him anywhere. Jarod was a body, a set of responses to stimuli as applied by a sadist. He had learned to love and hate those stimuli before and he would again. Lyle merely saw him as quiet and compliant. As he reached and pinched Jarod's nipple, he told him to wake up.

"I'm not asleep."

Lyle blinked at the calm tone then smiled. He remembered what it took to bring Jarod to this state before. Convenient that it only took a few hours this time instead of weeks. He held up a pad of steel wool in his hand. 

"Bath time, Jarod."

Dipping the rough pad into a small pail of cold water, Lyle dripped it on Jarod's body. The strong cleanser in the pad ran across one of the cuts on Jarod's chest, and he hissed at the sudden pain.

Smiling, Lyle began to sponge him down with the steel wool. He would brush it lightly over Jarod's skin, enjoying the red, scratchy path that it left. Whenever Jarod seemed to have built up defenses against the hurt, Lyle would scrub a little harder, winning a cry of pain or a whimper from the bound man. And through this painful 'bath' Jarod's cock remained erect, with an occasional bucking motion to rub the plug against his prostate.

Although the torture was enjoyable, Lyle grew progressively bored, and stopped the 'bath' after only a few minutes. He then rinsed the cleanser off carefully, and then rinsed again. To check his success, he leaned down and licked the reddened skin. Satisfied that there was no remnant, he walked back into the kitchen and emptied the bucket. He was gone for almost half an hour and Jarod could hear the door bang on the trailer when he left briefly. Frantically, Jarod began a futile writhing against his bonds, a motion that served to reinforce the complete hopelessness of his position. His movements also shifted the damned plug, sending jolts of sexual arousal through his groin. 

When Lyle returned, Jarod was all but whimpering with pain and need.

He watched the pretender lying passively as he walked around the bed, a scalpel in his hand. Lyle smiled and held up the razor sharp blade for Jarod's closer inspection. 

"Aren't you afraid?" he asked, turning the weapon so the light glinted off the steel.

Jarod rolled his head on the pillow and looked away. "Do what you want, Lyle. You will anyway."

"Well you're no fun," Lyle huffed as he reached for the rope around Jarod's left ankle. The heavy rope parted with one pull of the blade and Jarod took a moment to be glad he was not on the receiving end of it for a change. As his leg fell free, he automatically straightened it in front of him, trying to feel less exposed.

Lyle chuckled as he cut Jarod's other leg free. "Don't bother with the modesty, Jarod." He tossed the scalpel into the corner of the room where it stuck in the wall. "We're about to get reacquainted on a very basic level."

Jarod had long since resigned himself to this inevitable act, so he barely blinked when Lyle made a show of stripping before climbing back onto the bed. Lyle maneuvered in between Jarod's legs, his eyes on the erection that still sustained itself in spite of the interruptions.

"You are such a good boy, Jarod," Lyle praised. "Then again, you always did excel in whatever you did."

Jarod had been watching Lyle, but when he saw the man reaching between his legs, he turned his head away.

"We just need to get rid of this......" Lyle gripped the end of the rubber plug and twisted it, eliciting a quickly squelched moan from Jarod's throat.

"Like that, huh?" Lyle asked, resisting the urge to do it again. He pulled slowly and was happy to see the opening remain somewhat open. "You're gonna love this, Jarod."

Lyle whacked the pretender on his calves and Jarod automatically drew them up, his legs going around Lyle's waist. "You do remember!" Lyle crowed happily. "I should reward you for that."

Jarod wasn't sure what Lyle had in mind for a reward, and at this point he didn't care. His cock was so hard it hurt to even have a breeze cross it and if one more sperm found its way into his balls he was going to explode. 

"Easy, big fella." Lyle smiled. "You do remember, don't you, what a bronc you are?"

Lyle reached down and unsnapped the ball separator and massaged Jarod's testicles. "Is that better, Sweetie?"

Jarod nodded, his relief almost palpable, and essayed a shy smile for his tormentor. His brain had been buzzing with possible sims, like kicking Lyle against the wall and killing him. But the trailer and warehouse were isolated and Jarod had tested his bonds and knew he would never loose himself. The death from dehydration was a worse prospect than Lyle. So far.

Jarod felt Lyle fumbling with the strap around the base of his cock and opened his eyes.

"That's it, Jarod, let's do this together." Lyle guided the tip of his cock to the stretched ring of muscle and thrust it deep within Jarod's body. The bound man was unable to hold back a grunt of pain at the burning feeling as his body was filled with Lyle's engorged penis.

"Like that? There's more," Lyle was panting with excitement. He pulled his cock out completely, and held it against Jarod's anus. "Oops. Ah well, no pain, no gain."

And Lyle thrust violently inside Jarod again.

Jarod whimpered and arched his body up, clenching muscles around Lyle's cock, holding it inside himself. The madman thrust again and again, using his cock as a weapon, battering inside Jarod. The pleasure was not part of this assault, and yet, when Lyle suddenly released the constraint on his cock, Jarod felt himself respond, bucking into the thrusts, trying to get the release that had been withheld from him. A rhythm established itself, one that Jarod forced his body to accommodate to minimize the damage that Lyle seemed bent on inflicting. The sexual arousal that accompanied Lyle's ravishment was unwelcome, but it intensified as Lyle continued.

Sensing that Jarod was on the brink, Lyle leaned forward and bit Jarod's already sore nipple and Jarod came, screaming. Semen splashed onto his chest, Lyle's chest, everywhere, and then Jarod felt the hammering cock inside him swell and the hot slick semen flood inside his bowels. Lyle thrust a few more times, letting Jarod's now passive body milk him of his pleasure. He smirked down at Jarod, whose face was turned aside, eyes closed.

"You are such a pretty slut, Jarod. And mine. All mine." As Lyle pulled himself out of Jarod and padded into the restroom to clean himself, tears began to run down Jarod's bruised cheeks. He lay there wondering exactly why he was crying. It wasn't the pain, he knew that. He'd had worse before. It was something deeper; Something primal. As twisted as it was, part of him had enjoyed itself. He raised his head a fraction and looked at his limp cock lying contentedly against his thigh. "I hope you're happy." A dark humor warred with the pain in his voice.

He let his head drop back to the pillow and wondered what Lyle was up to. He didn't have long to wait. Happy whistling preceded the entrance of the Centre's most wanted psycho and Jarod looked over to see the man dressed in clean clothes with a suitcase in his hand.

"Are you just going to lay there?" Lyle asked as he set the case on the floor.

Jarod shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. "You know how it is," he responded, his voice just a hoarse whisper. "Some days you just can't get out of bed."

Lyle threw his head back and laughed. "I'm glad you didn't lose your sense of humor." 

"Going somewhere?" Jarod asked, tilting his head toward the packed bag.

Lyle nodded his head sadly. "Your friends will be here in an hour or so and I don't want them to find me like this."

Jarod stared at him in shock. "Well I don't want them to find me like this!"

Lyle patted his hand on Jarod's cock, holding back a smile when the treacherous organ twitched.

"Don't worry, Jarod. Miss Parker has been fantasizing about this for years, and you won't even know they're here." He fondled Jarod absently, and looked at the man's body. The bruises, the scrapes, the cuts were his handiwork. Not the first time I've worked with this medium, he told himself. And not the last.

Jarod knew he'd hate himself for it, but he asked anyway.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

The last thing he saw was Lyle's fist headed for his face, then everything went dark.

 

"I found blood on the floor in the main room, on the bed and on this shirt," Broots announced an hour and a half later. He handed the shirt to Sydney who held it up, examining the cuts.

"It's Jarod's."

Miss Parker motioned it away when Sydney held it out to her and he passed it back to Broots who stuffed it into a paper bag. 

"Who are you? Angelo? You look at a shirt and know it's Jarod's."

Sydney resisted the urge to smirk as he pulled a photo from his pocket.

"We found this. It was in the warehouse."

The photo was one of the first that Lyle had taken before Jarod had originally regained consciousness. The black T-shirt he was wearing in the photo was the same as the one they'd found."

Parker snatched the photo, staring at the familiar face, now battered. She swallowed, fighting a revulsion that a professional should not allow herself to feel. Forcing her voice to be light, careless, she drawled, "So where is he now, Kreskin?"

Sydney shrugged his shoulders. "He's probably far away from here."

 

A hundred yards away, Jarod watched the sweeper team finish up and leave the trailer. He had come to only minutes before their arrival, untied and redressed in everything but his shirt. He didn't want to think about Lyle's motives at the moment, he was too busy fighting the urge to go out there, talk to Sydney, seeking the uncertain refuge that Sydney had always represented. The promise he'd always felt with Miss Parker... and there she was, all sleek and perfect arrogance. No, he couldn't imagine going to Miss Parker. Not now. And the way he felt after Lyle's abuse, maybe not ever. 

But he was free, and although he hurt, he was mobile. He knew how to access his funds, his DSA's. He had his schemes, his purposes, and now he had a new focus. Jarod had spent the last two years avenging the wrongs suffered by others. Planning his own revenge might be the healing he needed. Ignoring the emotional pain in his mind from this assault and the previous ones was possible, he decided, as long as his quickly formulating plan against Lyle was carried out. His bruised lips formed the words that he'd heard once, a tribute to his immersion in the popular culture he'd been so long denied: "Payback's a bitch."


End file.
